Street Wars
by SpiritOfSherwood
Summary: After 5 years in Afghanistan, Robin returns to Britain only to see the country brought to its knees by a nuclear explosion. As dictatorship falls across Britain, Robin must regroup his old crew, the Outlaws on the mean streets on Nottingham and stay alive


**Ooh erm . . . ah . . . . You probably weren't expecting this from me weren't you? This idea has been running rings around my brain for months now and I decided to put it to paper at last. Tell me if I am sticking my fingers in too many pies? I have a concentration problem as it is.**

**Now we see Robin and his gang struggling for survival in a post apocalyptic 21****st**** century Britain. In the mean streets of Nottingham, Robin Locksley has gone AWOL from the Army following a nuclear disaster which rocks the whole world. As a new, grittier Britain rises from the ashes, there is more to the atomic holocaust than meets the eye . . . links that lead back to the corrupt emergency Prime Minister John Prince. As Robin and his gang stalks the mean streets of Nottingham, he must protect the people and refugees as well as his own gang and try to stop the coldly insane Sheriff of Nottingham and his sadistic chief of police, Guy Gisbourne. As marshal law falls across Britain and a dictatorship declared, how can one man bring peace back to a world of chaos and still find love?**

**The idea of the nuclear blast was inspired by a Doctor Who episode I saw once called "Turn Left" in which London is destroyed. This is a shameless re-use of a plot device and I am so sorry!**

**Before I start, I must warn you that this is a very dark and (hopefully) mature fic which carries the themes of widespread death/suffering, drug abuse and fighting/blood. Viewer discretion is advised if you know what I mean. The military theme sort of comes from my own interest in the Forces so if it gets too geeky for you then please feel no fear in telling me to "stop being such a military freak!" I'll try to curb it as well as keep the plot light hearted at points.**

**IMPORTANT!!: All interpretations of Nottingham in this fic are entirely non-accurate and are in no way prejudice or mean to the people of Nottingham (I havn't actually been there in my life!). I also don't put down my own views in this. Anything political is purely a plot device.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Robin Hood but I can do the next best thing and own the DVD box sets for Christmas! WOOT!!**

**Street Wars**

**London Airspace, July 12****th****, 2011**

The troop bay of the C130 Hercules transport aircraft was packed with more troops and equipment than was usually permitted by MOD and RAF regulations but no-one had listened to them. The whole chain of command was in a right bloody mess since the order to pull out had come through, what was left of it anyway. Everyone knew that the war in Afghanistan had been going badly for the West. Kabul had fallen in April in what was more of a rout than a battle, The rest of the coalition forces had pulled out of the stricken country in June including the United States which meant that only Britain's army was left to fight the rampant insurgents.

This particular Hercules had been one of the lucky ones, one of the last from the evacuation points of what was once Kandahar airbase. Exhausted men and women, all clad in desert fatigues, Kevlar vests and helmets clutched weapons and gear to themselves with white knuckled death grips. They were so closely packed together like sardines that they had to endure the five hour flight back the UK standing up. Many had fallen asleep where they stood out of exhaustion, others chewed gum or smoked cigarettes to give themselves something to do whilst others just stood there with the "thousand yard stare" written all over their faces as they relived the horrors they had just escaped. Some had managed to climb up and sleep in or on the huge armoured bulk of a Challenger 2 tank which had been salvaged from the killing fields and was currently taking up most of the troop bay.

Cpl Robin Huntington Locksley was too busy to think of the implications of national security when he got back. He had been stuck in that God-awful shitty mess of a desert for close to five years on hard front-line duty. He had a sun browned tan on his face which had been hardened over the years by the death of comrades and enemies alike. He was sweating like mad under his heavy combat gear and helmet which he hadn't removed for hours. There were shadows under his eyes from many sleepless nights on the fire step, waiting for the Taliban to come into his iron sights again. Rough stubble darkened his jaw line as none of them had the time to have a proper shave in over a month. The first thing he would do when he got back to barracks, before he even saluted whoever had ended up in charge – was take a nice long _cold_ shower and have a shave.

"Robin, look!" mumbled the man next to him, shaking him out of his thoughts. It was L/cpl Much Miller, a sandy haired man who was as brave and ready as any and was probably the most loyal man in the 39th Sherwood Foresters Regiment despite his worrisome nature. They had grown up together as boys and had joined the Army together as brash young men but being under near-constant fire from machete-wielding towel heads these past five years had rocked him to the core of his spirit. A dread beast of _fear_ would sometimes prey on him in the night, he would wake up in the early hours, drenched with a cold sweat and reaching for the nearest weapon he could find to fight of the demons in his sleep whilst his comrades restrained him

"What is it Much?" mumbled Robin as he looked out of the tiny window that he was pointing enthusiastically out of. The sky was tinged with a grey light and beneath them was a sea of lights and concrete. "It's London!" said Much ecstatically, a smile splitting his, dirty, unshaven, war-weary face. "We're _back!_" A ripple of excitement swelled through the ranks before a cheer rose up amongst them. Despite the losses of men and equipment, they had returned to their homeland _alive_. Hugs and embraces went around as well as a few tears and kisses of happiness.

The camaraderie was broken when the planes intercom crackled with static before one of the RAF pilots spoke to them. "Gents this is your captain speaking, we will be landing in RAF High-Wycombe in fifteen minutes were we will then unload and clear the decks. Soldiers are reminded to unload and make safe all weapons on your person and all personnel are to brace for landing"

Robin leaned back and smiled to himself. He had survived the war and he could return to his old street in Nottingham when the Army finally gave him some R&R. Things could be as they had used to be. Along with thoughts of homecoming, of his favourite cornershop, the chippy he frequented, the underpass where he and the Outlaws would sit and smoke fags, the places he would roam in his neighbourhood with his crew, the Outlaws – and of one particular girl who had plagued his mind for all these years, even in the heat of battle. The ghost of a smile which had graced his lips at the thought of Marian quickly died though. _I've been gone for five years _he told himself._ I left her like an ingrate to fight in an unwinnable war halfway across the world._ He wouldn't have been surprised if she had forgotten about him outright.

"Is it just me or should this plane be on its final descent by now?" asked Much to nobody in particular. Something was indeed wrong. Instead of descending in a slow and steady downwards spiral towards the runway at the airfield, the Hercules had banked steeply and was turning _away_ from the city. Robin could feel the engines groaning in protest as the pilot coaxed more speed out of them as if they were _fleeing_. The whole plane gave a lurching shudder as the afterburners roared to life.

There was a crackle as the intercom spoke again; the pilot's voice was quaking with fear

"Attention, all UK forces be advised, situation critical, we're in for some chop. Stand by. There has been an incident and we have a confirmed nuclear threat at the heart of the city. SAS teams have been called in to disarm the device and a general evacuation has been undertaken but it will take time to –" but he was cut off by a blinding flash from every window in the Hercules, burning so bright that it outshone the sun and gave Robin the impression of a light bulb burning inside his head so brightly that he could see the bones of his hands.

A huge fireball of epic proportions had blossomed at the heart of the city. A split second later a thunderous white noise nearly deafened every living thing within a thirty mile radius. It was a raw, churning white noise which sounding like nothing other than the wrath of God. Robin just had a few seconds to watch as a shockwave ripped through the sky, obliterating buildings that hadn't already been incinerated in the atomic inferno which was now towering above London and knocking escort fighters and other aircraft out of the sky.

Somebody just had enough time to shout "EVERYBODY HANG ON TO SOMETHING!!" at the top of his lungs before the lights went out, alarms started to shrill and the plane started to lurch uncontrollably in the air as its electronics were fried by the shockwave.

As the engines cut out, the Hercules started to fall through the sky and the clamps holding the Challenger tank in place snapped under the strain. Sixty tonnes of heavy armour slid uncontrollably towards the back of the troop bay with a metallic screech adding to the din, crushing any unfortunates in the way into bloody paste and powdered bone fragments and falling out of the rear door of the aircraft. Soldiers screamed as they attempted to cling onto something as the troop bay depressurised and a boiling wind screamed through the aircraft. Robin was holding onto the body armour of one of the soldiers who was going to fall out before loose equipment surged passed and dislodged him. He screamed and reached out for his comrades in futility as he was sucked into the nuclear inferno whilst those few who had managed to hang onto something bolted to the deck could only cling to their lifelines for grim death.

The sickening spinning of the Hercules lasted for only a few more moments before it slammed into earth with a sickening crunch and Robin's world went black.

_Robin? Robin can you hear me?_

A face swam into view in front of Robin's face. He could make out sandy hair caked in blood from a nasty scalp wound dripping blood down one side of the Lance Corporal's face.

"Much?"

"At last!" exclaimed Much, happiness briefly ghosting across his face. "Are you alright? Can you move?"

"Yeah, yeah I'm Ok" spluttered Robin a bit groggily as he felt a lump on the back of his head. He must have hit his head on the deck as the plane crashed. Luckily his helmet had taken the brunt of the impact. Had it not been there, then Robin could have been in an even more bad way than Much was.

Robin looked around for any other survivors before he saw only bloodied dead bodies. "The others . . . in the impact" said Much sadly "there's nothing we can do for them now"

Together, the duo clambered out of the twisted steel wreckage of the Hercules. Robin froze as his hand touched the soft green grass once again instead of burning sand. "England" he whispered as he enjoyed the feeling of the grass between his fingers, even if it was slightly scorched, it felt just as good as they imagined it over their years in the desert despite the fact that they had arrived in a somewhat . . . explosive fashion.

"Aye" said Much grimly "for better or worse".

Looking around for anything that resembled a working vehicle, Robin's eyes came to rest on a Snatch Land Rover that had come to rest on its side along with the rest of the wreckage. Miraculously it was still shaped more or less like a car when Robin examined it closely. He and Much pushed the car back onto its wheels before they turned towards the destruction.

In front of them sprawled what was once the metropolis of London. Entire sectors of the city had simply vanished, replaced by ash, fire and rubble. At the epicentre of the blast, an ominous mushroom cloud towered over the huge simmering cauldron of fire and destruction which was now reminiscent of classical images of the Apocalypse. The duo just stood and stared at the biblical amount of power which had been unleashed before them. Over five million people had been living in London when they had left Britain to go to war. Who knew how many lives had just been snuffed out like guttering candles?

"W-what do we do Robin?" stammered Much as he broke the stunned silence.

"We run" said Robin simply as he turned from the destruction and got in the Land Rover "We go back to Nottingham and go AWOL. Nobody will notice" Much hesitated slightly before he got in and began to scrounge for weapons and ammo while Robin hotwired the ignition, gunned the engine and drove off over the fields, steadily northwards as the mushroom cloud blotted out the sun and burned the sky orange.

**OMG! I destroyed London! Sorry if anyone reading this lives there. What will Robin do next once he gets back to Nottingham? Will he re-assemble his old crew, the Outlaws? Give me feedback and then this story won't be so dead. I'm afraid an update won't be coming soon though but please keep those reviews coming! As a side note, I think I have been playing too much Call of Duty 4. Is the dialogue too similar to **_**that**_** level anyone?!**

**Happy New Year from the School-bound Spirit**

**XxX :)**


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